


Voice

by MeansToOffend (goodmorning)



Series: Pick Me Up [16]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017-2018 NHL Season, Los Angeles Kings, M/M, Pick-Up Lines, goalies are still weird, obliviousness is becoming a theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 14:03:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14380179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmorning/pseuds/MeansToOffend
Summary: "It should be illegal, Kopi thinks. But, then, he often thinks this about Quickie."





	Voice

It should be illegal, Kopi thinks. But, then, he often thinks this about Quickie, who is completely and unabashedly himself in all situations and who, Kopi also thinks, he should have been warned about as a career hazard or a health hazard or both. Of course, there’s no real way anyone could have known that this is the way Quickie would be, or how to describe him in a warning even if they did.

In some ways, everything that Quickie is defies warnings. He’s like a flower with a poisonous scent, like a puddle-sized pool that hides a fathomless abyss. It’s because of this that Kopi thinks even if he had been warned, he wouldn’t have believed any of it. Sometimes, he still doesn’t.

\--

Even at twenty - still waking at the wrong times of day, feelings of homesickness for Slovenia occasionally blindsiding him, trying to figure out some of the weirder quirks of the English language - Kopi had known about hockey, the only familiar thing amidst the traffic and heat, the sunshine and palm trees. When it came down to it, there wasn’t much to know, really. 

First, and most important: coaches love defense, and never seem to worry so much about scoring. Second, also key: moving feet and a careful stick during every moment on the ice will mostly lead to good things. Third, more advice than practice: all goalies are either extremely sharp or extremely vague, off the ice. One of his coaches, when he was young, had called them eagles and squirrels, and that seemed to fit well. That coach preferred eagles, but Kopi had known even then that it didn’t matter what they were like off the ice; during games, they all shared the same intense focus, a little scary, a little challenging.

The point of which- In his sophomore season, they’d called up a goalie, and all Kopi could think was that it should be illegal to be so cute, because Quickie _was_ , radiating quiet pleasure as he was officially introduced to the team. He really did remind Kopi of nothing so much as a red squirrel then, and the impression was only strengthened when he introduced himself. Quickie’s dark eyes searched his face, swift and assessing in a way that belied his casual attitude.

“You will be good goalie, I think,” Kopi found himself saying aloud, and Quickie’s expression hadn’t changed a bit as he considered it. 

“I hope so,” he’d said, finally. “If I prove you wrong I don’t think either of us will ever forgive me.” And then he was dragged off to meet Brownie, leaving Kopi to contemplate it all.

\--

In theory, Kopi had known that goalies must stretch, that doing the splits had to require a certain amount of preparation and flexibility, but it was still fairly shocking the first time he came across Quickie finishing up his pregame routine in a perfect fucking split.

As Kopi watched, Quickie had begun to stretch his upper body, reaching and bending and twisting, and all the while his legs were still spread out, motionless save for the tensing and relaxing of muscles, framed against the tile floor in a way that made Kopi think that it should be illegal to be so flexible, because it might just kill someone. It had nearly killed Kopi when Quickie opened his eyes and looked right at him.

“Hi,” he said, neither smiling nor frowning. “You can join me if you want, but no talking.” And he closed his eyes, returned to stretching.

Kopi should probably have left, then, should have gone back to the team and played hall soccer, as they insisted on calling it, but he hadn’t. Instead, feeling vaguely silly, he’d done a wall sit, just to feel like he was doing something. Not wanting to wear himself out, he’d stopped after a minute or so and switched to a few perfunctory lunges. They were more meant to camouflage that he was staring than they were to actually loosen himself up, but he had to be doing something, in case Quickie should open his eyes and catch him.

Quickie had opened his eyes, of course, but he didn’t seem to notice the staring, and past-Kopi, like an idiot, had been relieved about that.

Still, the hallway was pleasant and quiet, and Kopi started spending more and more pregames with Quickie, stretching silently, pretending not to stare.

\--

Seasons had gone by, and they’d become the core, Doughts, Brownie, Quickie, Kopi, staying the same while most of the team changed around them, year over year. 

Going from periphery to necessity, being promoted from pawn to knight, had been mostly unsettling for Kopi, because despite all the certainty and security of a long, lucrative contract, he’d mostly felt lonely. Quickie had always been a knight, though, and it wasn’t an accident that he was the one Kopi ended up seeking out the most, until they were, unaccountably, friends.

And then they’d won the Cup, and the bond had been welded tight.

Kopi ended up with custody of the Cup as they left the ice, heavy and silver and _theirs_ , and Quickie had been hauling around the Conn Smythe since the second he was done with his victory lap. The two of them were laughing, incandescently happy. Quickie looked up at Kopi, joy all over his face, and Kopi had thought, heart twinging, it should really be illegal for him to look this gleeful in front of Kopi, of all people. He wanted to kiss him, wondered what would happen if he did, if he leant over the weight of their combined trophies and brushed his lips over Quickie’s, like a promise between them, sworn on Lord Stanley.

Did Quickie feel the same? Even if he didn’t, would he mind all that much, drunk off the feeling of winning something so coveted? But if he did- Would he return the kiss right there? Would he grin into it, put their prizes down, lead Kopi into some dark corner somewhere? Or would he let Kopi take control of it, meeting his lips, his tongue, until he forgot the weight of the Conn Smythe, that he was holding anything at all? 

(And Kopi still doesn’t know the weight of the Conn Smythe, himself, but at least he can be glad it’s never been dropped on his foot.)

\--

Another Cup, a few more seasons, and Quickie had gotten hurt. _Really_ hurt. In hockey, injuries were always a factor, and each of them had missed a week here, two weeks there, but this time was different. Even if they were calling Quickie week-to-week, the trainers seemed to think it was worse than that, though they didn’t - couldn’t - say as much to Kopi. But he would have been worried, anyway, just because he’d had to ask them in the first place, because Quickie had avoided telling Kopi anything himself. 

He’d retreated further and further into his shell, ducking everyone on the team, making excuses to reject Kopi’s invitations, issuing few of his own. When Kopi had managed to spend time with him, it was almost worse, the way he tried to keep everything surface-level. Every time Kopi tried to take their conversations past small talk, Quickie would turn them into question time, asking Kopi about the team that he himself refused to see. And every time Kopi got tired of that and tried asking Quickie things, he’d gone quiet, plastered on his interview face and spoke only in cliches.

And Kopi thought, many times, that it should be illegal to be that bland, in the face of someone else’s worry.

\--

It should be illegal, Kopi thinks, for Quickie to be so absolutely fucking oblivious. 

Taking his straightforward “I love you” as an “I love you, man” is one thing - their bromance has spanned years, and though it’s not something he’s ever personally said, it is the sort of thing that he’s heard a lot in the room. Assuming that all the little favours Kopi does for him mean nothing in particular is also fair, because captains are supposed to look after their goalies, even if this is maybe a little more looking-after than Kopi would be doing for anyone else.

But the flowers, after Quickie’s birthday win? _Flowers._ How could Quickie think flowers meant anything other than Kopi intended them to? He’s not getting any younger, and he’s hopelessly in love with a hopeless idiot, and there’s nothing he can do about it. 

What makes it worse is that Quickie, always encouraging, has picked this season to be ridiculous about it. He’s now hell-bent on complimenting everyone, and Kopi gets far more than he can deal with. And it’s not just “Nice goal!” or “Sweet pass!” or “Good block!”

No, Quickie keeps pulling shit like “Nice haircut!” and “Sweet speech!” and “Damn, captain, I see you didn’t skip leg day!” And Kopi would be so sure Quickie is flirting with him, because those are so blatantly obvious that what else could they be? Except, of course, if Quickie is flirting, then why is he always so blank when Kopi flirts back? And _the birthday flowers._

In short, the frustration that comes with this, that’s been slowly building for nearly a decade, has now turned itself up to eleven, and Kopi’s pretty done with it. So when Quickie pulls him aside, after the media stop asking about MacKinnon and leave, after the guys cheer and chant and make him give a playoffs speech, Kopi is sure he doesn’t want to hear what Quickie has to say.

But he can’t avoid it. 

“You know, you have a good voice. I really like it.”

And Kopi finally snaps. “You should really hear it in the morning,” he says, more angry than flirtatious, and watches as Quickie’s face snaps into on-ice focus, gaze raising goosebumps along Kopi’s arms.

“Yeah,” Quickie finally says, with a smile that makes Kopi’s spine melt, “I think I’d like that. You always have the best ideas.”

“If I have the best ideas, why is _this_ the one that worked?” Kopi says. They’re silent for a moment before bursting into laughter, and he can almost feel the phantom weight of the Cup in his fingers again.

Nobody says anything or tries to stop them as they leave. It’s a little unusual - the team is a needy one, always full of requests - but he doesn’t question it, just gets out his keys so Quickie doesn’t get any ideas about driving. Kopi doesn’t know if it’s a squirrel thing or a goalie thing or just a Quickie thing, but he’s slow and careful, and tonight Kopi is much too impatient to sit quiet in the passenger seat as little old ladies flip Quickie off on the highway, squinting over the tops of their steering wheels as they pass by.

So Kopi drives, straight to his house, and then drives Quickie crazy.

\--

They go to morning skate together, despite having picked up Quickie’s car, and Kopi clears his throat to get the team’s attention. Brownie interrupts. “Yeah, yeah, congrats on ten years, sorry we didn’t get you a card.”

“Ten… what?” Kopi asks. 

Doughts frowns. “Is it not? I thought for sure, with the way you always warm up together…”

“And you’re always, um, attentive…” Soups points out. Kopi feels a little guilty.

Carts raises an eyebrow. “I thought, when the two of you ‘got lost’ with the Cup…”

“You refused to spend time with anyone else when you were hurt last season,” Muzz tells Quickie.

“What the fuck else were the flowers for, then?” Pears demands. The room goes silent, turning to them for the answer.

“Better late than never?” Quickie offers, and Kopi squeezes his hand, grinning as everyone tries to chirp them all at once.

“If anyone cuts into my nap by being late for practice I’ll be very disappointed,” he says, heading to his stall.

“Nap,” Brownie says, complete with air quotes, and the team finishes dressing and takes the ice.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Inspired by Quick being boring in [this video.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_0b6Jdamws) And also by [ this picture.](https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/anze-kopitar-of-the-los-angeles-kings-holds-the-stanley-cup-news-photo/146225919#anze-kopitar-of-the-los-angeles-kings-holds-the-stanley-cup-as-picture-id146225919)  
> \- I call the two types of goalies hawks and chipmunks, personally, but this presumably would differ based on one's background, hence eagles and squirrels.  
> \- The tenses in this made me so tense; you can probably pinpoint the exact moment when I gave up.
> 
> -The reason this is slightly later than I'd hoped it would be is that it took me an entire week to finish Philly. Anaheim will therefore go up tomorrow.


End file.
